Harry Potter and the Phoenix Gift
by Audacia's Quill
Summary: Full details inside A/N  Post War - The poor lad's losing his mind. Bill sets Harry up at a friend of a friend's. He warned the Ishtars about his PTSD...but not the other thing... Slash,
1. Ash Rebirth

_A/N: This story may soon be up for adoption if I can't find the other bits, I'll continue it a-fresh if the reviews are good. Basically I was sorting through half-baked scenes on my laptop for my other fictions (which, at a free moment, will be updated when I have time to attempt syntax fixing the documents) The Core Project has been niggling for resurrection along with Saving Harry and I'll see if I can do anything with my Dr. Death fic this coming weekend. While I was having a rummage I uncovered this little gem, which I consider to be my polar (no pun intended) opposite to "Potter Frost" (which is on the update list just after Saving Harry)._

_I do not own YGO or HP. Slash, undecided pairings. Ignores DH and HBP Severe alcoholism and other nastiness - story may be a twoshot/threeshot depending on response _

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><p>Chapter One<p>

His body seemed to sway in an almost drunk manner - power drunk he was. The way in which he'd crawled out from the belly of the beast- the Mouth of the Underworld was something to behold. Nicholas Flamel had never even heard of such a thing, in fact, it was something reserved for wizard's myths like the Peverell's encounter with Death in Tales of the Beedle and the Bard. You see, Harry Potter had died.

And yet there he stood, clear as day and as real as you or I. Harry Potter had crawled from the very grasp of Death, and had done what no wizard had ever done. He dared Death to use his scythe to re-open the Mouth of the Underworld, and said that if he could not find a way to get up there and through to the land of the living, Death could claim his soul for all time and have his other two hallows, keep him from his parents, Sirius and all those who had passed on. Death, tantalized at such an offer, accepted. He opened the very skies of the land of the dead, knowing full well that without a wand, and off a mortal plain, he had no powers - he would surely not be able to find a way up to the portal.

And so the floor of the mortal plain shook for such a short moment that almost nobody could have noticed it without doubting whether that actually just happened or if they'd lost their balance. He had donned the wings of something that far evaded Death for countless centuries - without really knowing how he did it.

But Harry Potter came back into the land of living through the wings of a phoenix. And there he stood, in front of a younger Voldemort - Tom Marvolo Riddle in a perfected human form, as real as he was before the green light had hit him in the chest.

"You survived, _again!_" he hissed, but his widened eyes betrayed the fact he was mentally reeling over it and his wand grip had become loose in sweat.

Harry felt himself welcoming air into his lungs, and looking slightly confused as to what he - or - his soul, had just done.

_"You killed me,"_ Tom and Harry were the only ones alive for miles, the grass strewn with fallen wands, blood on single blades and heaved bodies in cold lumps.

"You killed me but I'm back," exhaled Harry slowly, somehow - it seemed that Tom had to know. Voldemort - Tom, had always been one step ahead of the game. He always seemed to know more then Harry did about himself sometimes. So it seemed only logical that his enemy knew now.

"You killed me, I saw Death, I beat him and I came back," he swallowed nervously, if Voldemort knew so much he had to know what was going on.

Voldemort didn't say anything, he observed as the savior realized he had no Elder Wand.. no any wand for that matter, and yet he seemed to emanate the same crisp power that Dumbledore had in his life.

"What does that make me?" he didn't even know if he was human, the green irises reflected a fiery, burning, angry confusion and loss.

Voldemort remained silent - he did not know.

"**_What does that make me?" _**the anger poured out in ripples waves of flames that encased the boy from head to toe. His entire body felt hot from his feet up to his face, he didn't have his wand, but this time, he didn't feel like he'd need it. The Dark Lord met his defeat by inextinguishable flames that had swallowed his wand to ashes and seared his fingers and his entire body as the Boy-Who-Lived stalked toward him agonizingly slowly through the hot rippling air that distorted his approaching form. The smell made his stomach turn, but the only thought running through his head was of how this would finally be the end.

The-Boy-Who-Lived became The-Man-Who-Conquered as he watched the form of Tom Riddle fall to his feet in pain, screaming screams that only a man who was burning alive could muster, until Harry came clear in his vision. He too, eclipsed in flames, but not hurt, not stung, not even affected - simply emanating them. Mops of sweat had made his long black hair cling to his face but did little to distort his expression of angry victory. It was enough for Tom Riddle's screams to die on his lips as he could almost feel Death standing behind him as he burned, but remained focused on the boy infront.

His charring lips moved, Harry knelt down toward the burning, melting, _dying _Dark Lord to hear his very feeble last words. The last look in his eyes before he burned alive totally was a look of fear, of lostness, almost of innocence as he reminded Harry of a more innocent Riddle from the memories of Albus Dumbledore.

"_I don't want to die,"_

He said feebly, knees drawn to his chest as his eyes drew shut, the magical flames lost all slowness and ignited to full heat, the body becoming unrecognizable in a short space of time - the smell, unbearable.

Yet he could not stop watching until the flames stopped, to be sure it was the end.

* * *

><p>He jolted up from his sleep, mopped in sweat, ears ringing from a nightly scream. Harry looked around his dark bedroom wildly and tried to jump himself out of bed but had no strength and merely swung his upper body to the edge of his bed as he felt sick acidity rising from the pit of his stomach, up his gullet and onto his bedroom floor.<p>

He never thought Voldemort's demise would ever haunt him so, but it did. He sighed and felt unconsciousness take him.

All the things from war did and this time there was no Ron, Luna, Neville, Hermione or sane Weasley left to clutch onto. So many of his own had fallen that the pledge to "Never Forget" seemed pointless because he could list off every single person that died in The Battle of Hogwarts and suspected he would be able to do so until he died himself, for the final time.

Harry couldn't bare to stay there anymore, before Bill left to mourn with his family he offered to set Harry up with a friend of a friend's place out of England because the hero was still being asked to do things.

Like, rebuild the war-torn society.

He would if he could rebuild his own mind, but you see, Bill could see something that he and his goblin superior recognized as a little problem. PTSD they called it - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Even Griphook had been disturbed when Bill explained his reasons for temporary leave - the mourning was acceptable but the state in which the redhead admitted to finding the Savior had been a disturbing mental image. Laying in his own vomit, twitching, clothes half removed as he ran his hands over scars and bruises, crying into the floor.

Pathetic, thought Griphook, but most humans were - however... this one had an excuse, he conceded - and decided to sign Bill's temporary leave papers.

Of course, Odion and Isis had been warned profusely by Bill Weasley of the state Harry was in -they weren't even all that close, but from Bill's begging he was desperate.

_Please take him for a little while, he needs to flee. The war did a number on him, please, I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't desperate. Harry was my baby brother's best friend and he needs the help. He's lost more then me. Poor lad's losing his mind. _

They valued the cursebreaker for how strong he was, and accepted. So Harry moved into their new residence - in Japan, in a guest room. The boy hadn't actually met them though - Bill had brought him while he was unconscious after one of his little episodes and had carried him up to the guest room over his back with a note by the bed side.

Whilst they were told about Harry's little _episodes, _there was something that Bill had neglected to mention.

* * *

><p>The note contained little more then a sentence or two from Bill explaining that he'd had one of his fits when he'd walked in his attempt to take a nap before he was going to meet the people he was staying with. The note mentioned that he was currently <em>at <em>the Ishtar residence, hence the different bed he'd awoken in and lack of vomit at the side of the bed.

It felt strange, like he was clutching the bed covers of St. Mungos after waking up and having no idea where he was or who the people were around him - yet feeling distinctly _safe._

The room he was in was nicer then the smallest bedroom of Privet Drive, but was bereft of anything apart from the bed he was on, plain white curtains with sunlight shining in, a turned off lamp and chest of drawers beside the bed. He glanced and saw his trunk - locked, leaning against the chest of drawers and the door of the room slightly ajar.

Harry let out a short groan of pain as he tried to get out of the bed but clutched his sides as he felt an ungodly clench around his midsection. His body _hurt_ - he must have been writhing again. At this rather in-opportune moment, the door knocked and slowly opened at the sound of someone being awake. A nicely dressed, long-haired, brown-skinned lady came - no, almost seemed to glide into the room, sporting a tray of warm hot chocolate and biscuits.

"Ah, finally awake, you sure know how to sleep the day away young man," said the lady in a naturally smooth voice, like how he imagined his mother would have sounded and with similar grace. If this was a "false wakeup" dream, he'd rather not have left it. It felt like he wasn't in England anymore, like he'd disconnected...and he _had._

"S-Sorry to impose on you," Harry wracked his brain for the name "-Miss Isis,"

"Just Isis," corrected the lady gently with a smile, placing the tray on a chest of drawers.

"It must be hard having a stranger occupy your guest room before meeting them, thank you for your hospitality," he said, trying to remember manners of a civilized society. The lady seemed to wave it off with ease and provide a strange graceful comfort.

"Any friend of Bill is a friend of ours, anyway, he told us about you staying quite a while ago, apparently he'd been putting it off until he convinced you," she said with a quirk of her lip "-you can stay as long as you need, child,"

_I'm not a child, I'm seventeen!_

_But the lady looks late twenties so I'll let it slide._

"He told us of your circumstances," the war? "-that you have no living relatives to go back to until things quieten," ah, so she knew about the war but was getting at the fact he was a charity case. Nice.

_'Play nice, you're their guest - they're being nice to you for Bill,' _his conscience nagged.

"You must be Harry Potter," she said gently "-it's a pleasure to finally have you in our home," she said kindly - a gracious hostess.

It was strange that the Ishtars were so tolerant of a stranger with as many issues as him, who'd be sleeping in their home, in one their beds, in their spare room and eating from their fridge as if it were a hotel service.

"I-" Harry struggled to say something "-thank you. I'll try not to burden you too much, when-" he couldn't hide his wince and clutched his sides tighter.

"Oh my, are you alright?"

"-when I feel like I can walk," he managed "-i'll help around the place, I- I don't know what I'm doing to be honest or how long I'm staying or what's going on,"

The Dark Lord fell so recently...

"Understood," she said "-I brought you some hot chocolate to settle your stomach, you haven't had anything since you got here. Dinner is at five o'clock and my brother should be home by then,"

"Your brother?"

"Brothers," corrected Isis "-I have two, the eldest is downstairs and the other you'll meet at dinner,"

Harry nodded and watched her depart from the room, and softly called out to the almost-stranger.

"Thank you-!" he said again, staring up at the ceiling as he sagged back into the bed and exhaled slowly. Maybe human-kindness wasn't a thing of the past as he'd previously thought.

* * *

><p>The young blond was angry - not angry because of the fact there was a stranger in their house but because he was the last to hear about it. Odion winced and looked at Isis, she was always better at explaining and neutralizing this sort of situation.<p>

"-Remember, Bill Weasley mentioned the possibility of having him a while back?" she reminded gently.

"I don't _like_ that Weasley," sneered Marik "-he's one of those annoying pain in the backside cursebreakers that used to keep blundering into our business back home,"

_"_Well his friend is our guest and you will treat him as such!" said Isis strongly "Harry has no where else to go!"

"Since when were we a homeless shelter?" bit out Marik, Odion shook his head sadly. They weren't biologically brothers but if the Ishtars hadn't taken him in, he'd have been dead in the middle of the desert. He hoped Marik's mother's kindness wasn't lost on him.

"He's been through much Marik, and the cursebreaker's world is still reeling too much to help him," said Isis cryptically.

"Look. Whatever, as long as he stays away from my stuff," growled Marik "-and doesn't come in my room,"

Isis supposed that was the best she'd get from her littlest brother.


	2. Being Human

_A/N: This story may soon be up for adoption if I can't find the other bits, I'll continue it a-fresh if the reviews are good. Basically I was sorting through half-baked scenes on my laptop for my other fictions (which, at a free moment, will be updated when I have time to attempt syntax fixing the documents) The Core Project has been niggling for resurrection along with Saving Harry and I'll see if I can do anything with my Dr. Death fic this coming weekend. While I was having a rummage I uncovered this little gem, which I consider to be my polar (no pun intended) opposite to "Potter Frost" (which is on the update list just after Saving Harry)._

_I do not own YGO or HP. Slash, undecided pairings. Ignores DH and HBP Severe underage alcoholism and other nastiness - story may be a twoshot/threeshot OR possibly on-going but with a drabble-like style, depending on response _

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><p>Chapter Two<p>

Dinner had been an awkward affair at best. The visitor made an effort to clean himself up before coming down and seemed to aware of his less then positive reception. Not that he could blame them of course, he was an intrusive presence at best. It was then that both Isis and her younger brother began to learn something interesting about their guest. He was a man of many faces, for one thing. Whilst physically his characteristics hadn't changed, Isis noted how much more guarded Harry was. Certainly not standoffish as his manners were the best she'd seen. There was almost no similarity to the boy sitting in the spare bed, clutching his sides, or tear-stained unconscious features from when Bill had brought him over. Indeed, it was almost as if Harry had been well-practiced in the art of handling subtle animosity at the dinner table. He seemed to take Marik's shooting looks of distaste into stride while manipulating the cutlery around him with such well-refined ease that any sign of awkwardness on his part was untraceable. He remained unbearably polite and gracious, while subtly acknowledging the little digs that Marik made once or twice.

Really, Marik didn't hate the stranger, he just didn't like him being there - something that Harry could understand. It would not do to consider this other person's place a 'home away from home' as there was none of the bond or love for the walls or inhabitants like he had for The Burrow. As he helped Isis wash the dishes, he could not help but feel a pang in his chest that sunk all the way down to his stomach as he remembered The Burrow as it had been - as it should have remained being, and was now a pile of ash being repaired. He politely excused himself from their company, feeling no desire to be glared at by someone with worse subtly then Ron had.

His heart sank like a rock, _Ron..._

He dug around his trunk for the money he'd prepared earlier, there was a nice little agreement with Gringotts and his pouch connection to his vault, and after mulling over exchange rates, he decided he was doing well for an unemployed wizard. He felt like he was floating, as he took money and shoved it into his pockets and fixed up his shirt for a rather older look. It was almost surreal, how he'd left the house with no strings attached and was looking out at a hyper industrialized city in another country, on the other side of the globe. Never had he felt so far away from home, and as he saw - not horses or broomsticks, but cars, cyclists, scooters, motorcycles, signs and lights everywhere - he could not help but feel the cold air was breathing liberation into his lungs.

He could almost forget.

_Almost._

* * *

><p>He felt as though he were on a peculiar sort of high from the ease in which he'd shoved money into his pockets and walked out to explore a foreign city of which he had no understanding and had utterly no interference. It must have been hours, he'd crossed too many streets to remember, aimlessly wondered into shops and absorbed the rainbow of people he encountered.<p>

_Not a hint of the Death Eater's... they never stepped foot here. The war never did reach the shore. _

Japan was so beautiful, so unspoiled, there was something tender and pure about Domino city that seemed to want to lick his wounds soothingly. To surround him with bright eyed, mixed sub-cultured youth, business men strolling in and out of Edo's with arm-fulls of last minute food. Day to day things in a completely different culture that was unspoiled by the cruel hand of Voldemort and his war. It was almost like the city had wanted him to forget. Harry exhaled and sat down on a bench, staring at the building parallel, across the street.

Behind the bench was a small walled up stone plant-box area, that had little flower beds. He could have sat out in the slowly darkening outside for longer, but soon the cold turned from refreshing to a gentle nip. His hands wrapped around himself as the bitter chill made him shuffle into the building, which seemed to welcome him with open arms.

It was a dimly lit little pub that served - unusually enough, tandoori along with pub meals and alcohol. Making his way over to the nearest vacant stool, he decided to try something other then Firewhiskey. Muggle alcohol.

Previously -in his youth at Hogwarts, he never understood the appeal or Seamus Finnegan's desire to turn liquids to rum. He'd seen Uncle Vernon get drunk plenty of times, it didn't appeal to him. Losing your bearings and the hangover following never seemed particularly appetizing until he realized something. For a while, for a short, blissful, swaying moment - he could _forget._

He could forget everything he'd ever seen that he didn't want to see and the pain and the ache of loss. He could forget the war and his deceased friends, deceased loves, and all those who'd suffered. Once the lightly burning alcohol reached his body in mass units, he could feel himself slipping. Instead of that being a bad thing though - it was a good thing. It felt like he was slipping away from being "Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived," and was simply "Just Harry,". Just Harry who had the freedom to be uttering his story and his problems and his frustrations into the pit of whiskey shot, to a bartender paid to nod and smile.

He didn't even feel the hours slip through his fingers, until a voice of more then the bartender began to urge him to go home.

When he felt like his skills in apparating would be close to suffering due to his intoxication - he nodded and took his leave in an ungraceful stumble as the barkeeper shook his head and resumed cleaning the bar table with his rag.

He decided he'd have to apparate out of the house, he contemplated doing it straight to his room but his drunken logic told him it'd be hard to explain how he got in the house if anyone was awake and knew he hadn't entered using the door.

Then he realized he'd have to appear sober and knock because he didn't have a key.

Forcing himself into a rigid stance - but looking down so that his out-grown locks of hair would fall forward over his eyes somewhat and scar, as - if his eyes could betray his intoxication and as if looking down would coat the liquors scent.

He lightly knocked on the door, and after the sound of a gentle click, it opened. He hoped it'd be the tallest brother - what was his name? Something beginning with an O with enough facial tattooing and intimidating demeanor that Harry guessed small children weren't fond him. Yeah, that guy - _Odion! _

His drunken mind celebrated the internal victory - yeah he hoped it was him, between Odion and Miss Isis and the stroppy teenager, he would have preferred if the nice lady didn't see him in his shameful state and he couldn't deal with blondie and the shit-eating grin that'd be soon to follow.

Of course, with a Potter's luck, it turned out to be the stroppy, irritable blond boy who made a show of not liking him at dinner.

"What time do you call this?" the teenager - what was that asshole called again?

Harry had half a mind to push his way in and - no, his mind reminded him he was a guest in their home even if this member of the Ishtar family was uncooperative at best. He had to keep it civil, but this guy was a year below him and was talking as if he was his keeper! The Ishtars were kind enough to put him up, yes, but they were not his babysitter nor did they know him enough for it to a be a legitimate concern of theirs.

"Sorry mother, I didn't know there was a curfew!" he was surprised at how eloquently he managed it, it wasn't slurred - maybe the cold air had sobered him a bit.

"In this house, no, but everyone else is asleep, try not to be a dick and wake everyone by coming in whenever you want," snapped Marik irritably.

Harry blinked his drunken haze back slightly and had the decency to be a bit ashamed. As much as it pained him to admit - the kid raised a valid point. Suddenly he felt a sweeping sense of guilt that weighed his stomach down like a rock.

"M'Sorry," shit, now that _was _slurred and more emotion then he intended had poured into it.

"Easy, don't make me get the kleenex - Gods, what is wrong with you?" sneered the blond as Harry did his best to walk in normally but was betrayed by a slight sway.

"Pee-Tee-Esss something," slurred out Harry, there was no keeping up an act of sobriety - it proved much to hard. It didn't look like the youngest Ishtar had clocked on anyway.

"Erm..? What?" Marik had no idea what Harry was on about, but then the smell of strong - immensely strong - liquor had wafted from the apologetic boy's mouth despite best attempts to hide it. It took a minute for it to click, and then when Harry had practically slobbered his entire body onto the banister in order to make it up the stairs, it was apparent. Somehow, someone - had served their... intruder, and not only had he spent a majority of the day out (which he had no complaints with) - he'd gone and gotten totally intoxicated.

"Nev'mind, m' tired. I'll be back earl'yer nex time, m' sorry," he drew out the last word and then let out what sounded like a poorly smothered hiccup.

If Marik didn't dislike the guy so much the situation would have been comical, but he settled for glaring up at Harry's staggering form as it slowly retreated to the guest room.

Intoxicated wasn't the right word - _shitfaced - _more like it.

Thoroughly unimpressed, he went back to watching the late night horror channel in the living room, and decided he'd get his digs in tomorrow - during what promises to be the world's deadliest hangover.

* * *

><p>Morning came - unfortunately.<p>

The swirl of vomit seemed to be flecked with blood until he blinked it away, his mind played tricks on him like that. It made him angry with himself - as if the punishment of the unholy hangover wasn't bad enough on it's own. At least he'd conjured a bucket this time as he was sure he wouldn't make it to the family's bathroom from his bed. Not that he'd have been pleased to - he was sure explaining why he was sicking up when the other members of the household needed to brush their teeth early morning would not be a nice task. Being a bloke, he was sure 'morning sickness' wouldn't fly as an excuse - actually it'd probably be frowned on more if it could have been. He coughed out the unattractive driblet of foul, odorous stomach expulsion and felt it drip from his lower lip. Finally, it felt like his body had been forcefully cleaned out, and a sense of relief washed over him as he cast a vanishing charm on the bucket and fell back into the bed.

Then, his tongue tasted the remnants which made him want to dry-heave, he squeezed his eyes shut. The inside of his mouth began to taste like ash, but he didn't smoke - no, he had a lot of bad habits but smoking was not one of them. But fear coiled him, his mouth tasted like the night of the final battle. When he _came back _into his body, when the world had rumbled, when the afterlife tore open to unwillingly permiss his rebirth. It had rained ash, he hadn't noticed as the fire eclipsed him at the time but he noticed it in his memories - the sky rained ash and his mouth tasted it to. He couldn't clearly remember much of what actually happened apart from the altercation with Voldemort and watching him burn.

He felt dizzy again, his heart beating in his chest was the only part of his body he could feel, he couldn't move anything but his eyes. It felt like being in a full-body bind and his internal senses flared in alarm. He didn't want to admit it but he felt scared - like his entire body was eclipsed with terror. No matter how many times he relived his memories, the vision of all that he'd had and watched fall -die, in the battlefield, in his arms - people he loved slipping through his fingers had never ceased to hurt.

The memories of the Underworld never became any less terrifying - nor that non-replicatable feeling of losing your own humanity to come back.

Sometimes he could feel pain that wasn't necessarily his, too.

Sometimes he heard voices, not quite like schizophrenia or something alike to that, but like a familiar voice from a memory he couldn't place.

_You're the last one of us._

He'd heard them since he became what he was - a... a thing beyond death. It haunted him when the night fell and there was nothing but solitude and silence.

He could feel his numb arms flopping against the floor as his body contorted and fitted, like a fish out of water as his eyes felt like they were being kept open to view his memories by an unseen force. For a terrifying amount of time - he could not control his own body.

To an outsider - it was absolutely disturbing, the lithe man's face occasionally covered by sweat-dripped locks that flung back during the erratic fit, showed an unhealthy glow to his skin, green eyes were opened widely and unnaturally without blinking and rimmed by cracked red bloodshot. Eventually, he stopped moving and the erratic breathing went to sounding winded, as if he was trying to catch his breath. He probably couldn't feel those tears rolling down his face.

The youngest Ishtar stood in the doorway, peeking through the ajar, wondering what he just witnessed.

Perhaps he would just leave the stranger alone today.

* * *

><p>He didn't look anything like the confident boy at dinner yesterday, Marik poked at his breakfast - he was unable to wipe his mind of it.<p>

"What's wrong with him?" asked Marik suddenly.

Odion slowly put down his newspaper and looked at his younger brother curiously.

"Who?" he asked, though he could hazard a guess.

"That guy, Potter. Isis said he needed time to heal or something, and when I asked him what was...wrong with him, he tried to say something but it didn't make sense," said Marik awkwardly.

Odion paused to consider his answer - he knew his brother had no liking for the stranger in their home - so it wasn't out of concern. It was probably out of raw curiosity that he was even asking. Isis had given him the bare bones that some sort of war or dispute left Harry in the sad wreck that he was in, but not much else, and he knew his younger brother wouldn't be appeased by hearing the same answer again.

Perhaps he should be blunt?

"He has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Marik," sighed Odion.

Marik's gut froze - it was a mental disorder? Of sorts...

Well, in the past he'd been in the minds of many - adults, teens, the deranged, the simple - even the suicidal but he'd never had a brush with serious disorder before. It was strange and alien and seemed to humanize the disturbing fit he'd witnessed moments earlier.

"Why cant he get help?" logical question.

"It was a magical war, they don't have people qualified to deal with it and he cant seek regular help without exposing his world. They have a Statute of Secrecy, brother," explained Odion patiently.

A silence filled pause.

"Well, he's fucked then," said Marik matter-o-factly.

Odion raised a brow.

"I saw him having a fit when I passed his bedroom," elaborated the blond.

"-And you just left him like that?" said Odion, slowly getting up to go and check on the boy. A little feeling of guilt swam in Marik's stomach after his brother said that - in an incredulous voice.

"We should check on him,"

* * *

><p>Potter needed reminding of where he was - the temporary cluelessness was hard to watch. The guy actually thought he'd been captured and nearly fitted again had Odion not calmed him down.<p>

All Marik could do was stand in the doorway awkwardly, watching his brother trying to interact with a stranger on a personal level. Harry Potter was a mystery, an annoying mystery that took up a space at the dinner table and occupied the guest room. He was the smug dinner guest that demanded the sudden attentions of his small family and had them all running after him. His second day into Japan and he'd gone on a booze-bender without paying any mind to how disrespectful it was to show up at their house, that late, stinking of cheap liquor.

But now he looked different, like he was wearing another face, or maybe this was what he was really like underneath it all. Lost, confused, scared, angry and upset while Odion slowly and calmly reminded Harry of where he was.

Maybe this was why that Weasley trusted them with Potter, hardly any magical folk had experience with mental disorder the way the Ishtars did.

Eventually, Harry calmed down and the wide-eyed horror had melted to shame as he tried to hide behind his fringe of long black hair, ashamed that they'd found him in such way. That time after time he was exposing his weakness to strangers -of whom he was relying on constantly at their detriment.

Odion seemed to treat is as normally as possible and for that - Harry was grateful, but tensed when his stare met with Marik's at the doorway. He was getting an intense sort of look, but not the usual of stare of distaste. Even after his disrespectful behavior the previous night - that made his insides twist with embarrassment.

Marik contemplated using the Millennium Rod to try to gain control of Harry's mind, to see how it thinked and what lurked that caused such fits. But then he made a judgement call - it would be a bad move. Not that he cared about Potter's trust or anything but personally he didn't want to risk what lay in the mind of a man of war. Harry's probably killed more people then he's met, Marik's had a grubby little trail of blood of his own, but when it came to pure, naked, war - he was an amateur. There were also lines that he barely acknowledged because he never had to make judgement calls on them before - but there were indeed lines he would never cross.

War was prone to a lot of horrors that happen to over step those lines, and he wasn't just talking about friendly fire. But raw gore, rape, small children - and all the horrible kinds of things he imagined you could do with a wizard's wand in war.

_'Let's see, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, he has extreme episodes and an alcohol problem and he's not even legal yet, this guy is just a barrel full of problems,'_ mused Marik.

Odion left Harry be and sent a warning look to his younger brother who lingered in the doorway and walked in, shutting the door behind him as Odion went downstairs.

* * *

><p>"I'm very sorry you had to see that," said Harry in an exhausted sort of tone, like he'd run a full circuit as Marik slowly approached the bed and sat on the end of it.<p>

"-and I'm very sorry for how I acted last night, I should have been more considerate about the people in the household and what time I came back, I'm just lucky you were awake," said Harry meekly.

Marik waved it off - his anger had disappated after seeing the stranger the way that he did.

"Just don't do it again," he shrugged.

"So what are you here for?" asked Harry bluntly. Marik paused - well, he wasn't really sure, he just felt like he should say something to clear the air of animosity now.

"To see how you're feeling after um...?" he ended trailing off awkwardly.

"Normal," said Harry after a minute. It'd be a lie to say he was fine. Silence fell between the two as Marik felt a strange awkward intimacy to sitting on the edge of Harry's bed, beside him - when previously he preferred to pretend he didn't exist.

"Not good then?"

"Why do you care?" asked Harry curiously.

"I don't," said Marik bluntly "-I'm more curious then anything,"

"At least you're honest," said Harry after the Egyptian's bluntness.

"I feel terrible, I feel out of place, I'm unable to forget and I'm aware of how sad it is that a person who doesn't knows me and evidently dislikes me is the first person to ask and mean it," said Harry wryly. Pause.

"I don't dislike you - I did and now I don't," said Marik after a moment of thought "-you're just sort of...well..._ there," _"And you know, considering we're putting you up and you have some...coping issues," said Marik slowly "-you... err, you know you can tell us - " he corrected "-me things,"

"I mean I know you have no reason to like me, and we don't really know you, but under the circumstances of why you're here and why we're putting you up, if you need to talk about it, you can," I'm very bad at this comforting business, thought Marik - feeling offish and awkward.

"Thanks," muttered Harry, not knowing how else to respond.

"But I don't think getting hammered is a good idea, I can guess what was going through your head and what you hoped it'd achieve - I mean, now I know you have, uhm... this problem, and don't get me wrong - I'm not a prude or anything - I mean...I've done stuff," said Marik, making Harry look at him curiously when he received no elaboration.

"But if you want to forget, the bottle's not really going to help,"

Harry froze.

Was he so easy to read? Intentions so clear? Or did the youngest Ishtar just have a creepy ability to see inside his head?

"You can't imagine the things I've seen," hissed out Harry "-don't take the moral high ground, all I want is to forget the things I've had taken from me so I can't feel the pain of their loss, and there's so many things that I could have gone a lifetime without seeing," he squeezed his eyes shut.

"-and I'm not being dramatic, but a wizarding war is the equivalent to say, a nuclear one but with more damage range, I had to _do_ things just to survive it," and then he admitted something he hadn't meant to.

"-and now I don't feel human anymore,"

"I'm not even talking about the hundreds that I have had to lay waste to!" his voice got louder somewhat "-or the trail of blood that I had to leave across Britain, or any of the horrible things I had to do," he choked.

Marik wondered if he'd opened an emotional floodgate without intending to.

His hands shook under the covers and he wondered if he was about to hear something too private for him to be listening to.

"I felt myself die, I felt Death," pause "-I met him, and it's all such a haze but I felt everything that made me human -that made me mortal be shaved off of my soul and-" he exhaled softly "-I came back,"

Marik didn't quite know what to say.


	3. Bromance

_A/N: This story may soon be up for adoption if I can't find the other bits, I'll continue it a-fresh if the reviews are good. Basically I was sorting through half-baked scenes on my laptop for my other fictions (which, at a free moment, will be updated when I have time to attempt syntax fixing the documents) The Core Project has been niggling for resurrection along with Saving Harry and I'll see if I can do anything with my Dr. Death fic this coming weekend. While I was having a rummage I uncovered this little gem, which I consider to be my polar (no pun intended) opposite to "Potter Frost" (which is on the update list just after Saving Harry)._

_I do not own YGO or HP. Slash, undecided pairings. Ignores DH and HBP Severe underage alcoholism and other nastiness - story may be a twoshot/threeshot OR possibly on-going but with a drabble-like style, depending on response _

* * *

><p>Chapter Three<p>

He instantly regretted those words, the words that had flown out of his mouth so desperately in some vain attempt at lightening his own burden. Harry felt as though he had put himself knee-deep into his personal turmoil and was trying to get someone to pull him out, and risk pulling them in. It felt like it could have been anyone, but to Marik, it felt like he was the wrong person to be sitting so closely to the stranger. That maybe it should have been Odion, or Isis or even that Weasley, and that he'd wrenched open the floodgates to rather personal admissions. Then again - Marik had awkwardly encouraged it without really knowing what to do.

He was close enough to be able to peer deeply into Harry's expression, being able to read all of the emotions flashing through him as they changed with disturbing accuracy without use of the Millennium Rod.

It was strange that he felt concerned - or something close to it anyway.

Maybe it was because all he could see was the vision of Harry fitting on the bed if he left. After allowing himself to get close to him, he felt like the option of easily leaving as he had before was no longer available. When he did consider it - all he could think of was Odion's appalled voice from last time 'And you just left him there?'

So he just sat there. Eventually patting Harry on the back, comforting wasn't something he was particularly good at.

Marik also didn't know how to handle the admission of coming back to life. Bill had said something about him being the Boy-Who-Lived, but the personal admission of crawling back from death - being a man who did horrible things. War crimes? Was intense.

"I knew this guy once," said Harry, bringing Marik's attention back to him.

"Dean Thomas, he faught in the war too, except he couldn't handle it in the end. So he took some potions to forget. He forgot the war," said Harry softly.

Harry looked down shamefully.

"I thought of doing that too," he admitted.

"Dean forgot everything, he forgot the war, he forgot school, he forgot about the friends he watched die because he couldn't remember befriending them in the first place. He had no memories, just a massive gap of missing time - years. Except now the emptiness haunts him instead," said Harry mournfully, knowing Dean was in the same St Mungos ward as Neville's parents.

"Dean's not the same man anymore," said Harry quietly "-maybe that wasn't for the best,"

"Probably not," said Marik, taking it all in "-a mind is a very delicate thing, wiping it clean like that might have done more harm then good,"

"-at least he can sleep at night," said Harry with a shrug.

"What stops you?" asked Marik, trying to propel the conversation instead of sitting there awkwardly.

Harry paused, - nightmares - that much was obvious. Was the blond expecting him to elaborate on them? He already exposed what happened to him in the final battle, something not even his friends knew, wasn't this what he wanted? An impartial party that wasn't a healer, to listen to him, incase he sank into that personal abyss and didn't come back without anyone ever knowing who he truly was?

"Nightmares sometimes," said Harry "-it's when I'm most prone to fits, but they can just happen," he grimaced as he remembered his legendary fit in the middle of Diagon Alley.

"Ever caused you problems?" asked Marik, reading his expression.

"Yeah, once in public - grocery shopping. Didn't go out for a month after," he admitted.

That was awkward, Marik felt oddly embarrassed on his behalf and his cheeks heated. It was just a cringe-worthy thing to picture - not the moment itself but how he could have guessed people reacted to it. Staring, panic, curiosity and circling like vultures - yes, Marik could guess that was the response, he was well versed with how the minds of the public. An intimate sort of seizure in the streets can't have gone down well in any sort of manner.

Plus Harry had admitted to being absolutely mortified and his body seemed to respond by also being embarrassed on his behalf, even if Harry himself was over it.

"Embarrassing," muttered Marik "-I think I would have gone into hibernation,"

Harry laughed awkwardly - there was no way to really respond to this.

"Look," said Harry after a moment "-I'm sorry for all this, and yesterday, and imposing. But you know, other people are always making these decisions for me. I didn't deliberately choose to impose on your family," he said honestly.

"They couldn't put me back with my non-magical relatives, but they didn't want me in the first place. I was a doorstop baby - left there with a note and a blanket. No other living relations and the head honcho of all thing's magical - " Dumbledore "-had pushed them to make them take me in,"

"I lived at boarding school after, I never really needed a home. I've never really...had one," he pondered aloud.

"-Bill, bless him, he thought I needed one of those 'interventions' because of the.. fits..." he said offishly "- and since there's no treatment for wizards with this kind of thing, not just me - loads of people that faught in the war, had to go back home with their injuries, scars and problems," his eyes almost seemed to glaze over, as if staring pensively into the Mirror of Erised again.

"-The difference is, they got to go home with their problems - to their families, what little was left of them anyway. So Bill brought me here. I feel worse for the younger war orphans. I'm considered too old to be thrown in state care, but they aren't.. " Harry realized he was going off on a tangent and looked to the Egyptian who was surprisingly paying rapt attention.

"What about Bill? Couldn't you have stayed with him?" asked Marik curiously.

Harry reclined into the headboard and let out a very tired noise that made him seem far older then he really was.

"The thing about the Weasley family," he shut his eyes briefly "-is that I fucked them up irreparably and only Bill doesn't blame me,"

Silence.

"They used to be such a _big, _happy family and sort of regarded me as an extra child when they had to," he said "-I was best friends with Bill's youngest brother Ron, for years at school. We faught in the end battle, except his family fell when they tried protecting me. His mother, his father, one of the twins," he winced.

"I even dated his only and the youngest - sister," he said bitterly "-lets just say the enemy took her and sent her back."

He paused.

"Piece by piece,"

Marik's eyes widened, he didn't know how he should be feeling towards the guest in their home now, but he wasn't finished.

"I put them in danger," he said softly "-Ron won't even look at me. I was...disinvited to the funerary proceedings - not that I blame them,"

"But don't worry," he looked directly at Marik with such a frank and honest, empty sort of look that it unsettled him.

"I'm still paying for it," his voice lowered "-you know when I told you how I...came back?" to life? Yes, it was still constantly being mulled over and absorbed by the bombarded Ishtar. Marik nonetheless nodded silently and leaned in to hear what Harry had to say, it felt like an oddly even more personal admission.

"It's not the last time I died, or the first. But this time, I'm paying the price for everyone that fell," his eyes squeezed shut. "I keep...dying," he admitted softly.

"-And coming back, and dying, and coming back. It's hurts a different way every time, but I always - _always _come crawling back out again. I think Death might have made it into something of a game. He calls me 'Unconquerable', it's not as nice as it sounds. It just means they find more ways to try to keep me in the dead...place.." "-The craziest part is, I don't know how I come back, but I do,"

He looked to Marik.

"But since I've come here, he hasn't taken me back. Death just sort of lingers here, on the bed," he tilted his head to the side "-where you're sat funnily enough,"

Now Marik wanted to believe Harry was entirely insane, but PTSD aside he'd never heard someone sound so honest, blunt and truthful - so the sentence had made him scared stiff. To be reminded of his mortality so crudely was uncomfortable - and for a wizard to make Death sound like a being that could walk among the mortals he stole was entirely unsettling.

"Either that or I've finally finished up repaying for my war crimes," said Harry wryly "-or maybe I've gone insane,"

"Insane people are never aware they're insane," said Marik with an unsteady smile.

War crimes? Surely not.

He looked at Harry and reassessed him, his personal opinion had changed a lot in the span of a few days. First was annoying leech, then pathetic off-the-rails young drunkard and now? Now he didn't know what he thought of him anymore. Whilst all the words of mingling with Death sounded true to their core, Harry did not resemble a strong man - the kind that would crawl up from death - fighting tooth and nail again and again. He looked too fragile for that - too haunted. Harry's eyes - while beautiful in their rare shade of green were like sunken depths of sadness that he couldn't get rid of. Unfocused and miserable.

He could have been handsome at one time.

_Isn't he still? _well... yes, Marik's mind agreed reluctantly - but far more withered and weather-beaten in appearance. Lacking the pink in his cheeks - just a sad forgotten youth. Lucky to have gotten away from war with only a broken heart instead of broken limbs.

He wondered momentarily - if Harry should know something personal about him? Sure, his secrets weren't ones that surpassed mortality, but a quid pro quo felt like it was in order. If only to fill the gap of silence. If only to make Harry feel a bit less insane.

Marik's gaze broke from Harry's and wondered up to the ceiling where a low bar hung from a rather strange piping network in the guest room.

"I never really liked this room," he said, and he didn't have to look back at Harry to feel the inquisitive look.

Silence.

"And why is that?" asked Harry patiently, when Marik didn't extend on his flat statement.

Another pause.

"I hung my original self off the bar," he said.

Harry was stupified by the statement - why? What did he mean? Surely not...

"Well, I tried," he brought his stare back to Harry now and the air felt intimate once more, like a locked private moment.

"I sort of used to have a split personality," he admitted "-from being so angry and bitter and... well... alone, I think,"

"It used to take me over a lot, like it had a mind of it's own - and it did, enough to want to erase me completely and replace me with itself. Am I making sense?" asked Marik as Harry slowly tried to take it in.

"I... think so?"

So he continued.

"Odion was good at helping me keep it back - and it's worked for the most part," and there was an unspoken "but," hanging in the air.

So Harry pressed him to continue.

"But I'm scared of getting...so angry it could come back," he said quietly, as if the world could hear him say it.

"-what did you mean you tried 'hanging your original self'?" asked Harry - not missing a beat.

"Well..that part of me felt like it was me... and I didn't want that. The last time it happened I tried regaining control and wanted to get rid of it forever - so I tried hanging myself while it was taking over me." he said flatly.

Harry didn't want to imagine the reaction of the loved one who must have found him in that way - it would have devastated him.

"So who...?"

"Odion, and I made him swear not to tell my sister," said Marik "-it's why he's so protective of me,"

"I guess we're both kind of messed up,"

"I guess we are,"

* * *

><p>It was strange to see his little brother so close to the stranger, and Odion might have been a little jealous -if he wasn't so sure that the two were above platonic. The whole week they'd been hanging out, and at night - they'd be chatting in the other's room until late and one of them would leave. He was glad that Marik had a teenage friend that he could get close too, but he was sure there was tension between them that wasn't quite playful or brotherly. Was it too soon to tell? Besides, being Odion - naturally he wouldn't voice these thoughts.<p>

So Isis did.

"Do you think something's going on between our brother and Harry?" she said bluntly one morning. When Odion had tea in his hands. Which he promptly spilled.

What would Marik want him to say? Probably vehemently deny it.

"No! No, I think you're misreading," said Odion calmly, Isis raised a brow.

"There's potential," Odion conceded.

"Thoughts?" probed his sister.

Odion was quiet for a moment and Isis could practically see the cogs turning in his head as he mulled it over.

"If Marik wants this, then it's fine with me. But if it goes wrong, someone's getting in trouble," he said, cleaning up the spilled tea.

"You have no issue with the fact they both have...problems?" put Isis delicately.

Odion shrugged.

"More power to them, this is what family is for, right? If Marik's issues are getting in the way of his happiness, it's our duty to be there to help, but he has to make his own choices," said Odion wisely.

Isis seemed pleased with the answer but then her expression shifted.

"What about Harry?"

"He doesn't have a family to help him out, so he'll have to make do with us," Odion smiled wanly.

Isis beamed, she was always proud of her eldest brother, always one of the more compassionate member of the family even if he didn't show it in hugs and overtly.

"His PTSD is a problem though, I wish there was something we could do, have you seen the poor boy's awful fits? " sighed Isis

"I know sister, I know," he said grimly.


	4. Moral Compass

_A/N: This story may soon be up for adoption if I can't find the other bits, I'll continue it a-fresh if the reviews are good. Basically I was sorting through half-baked scenes on my laptop for my other fictions (which, at a free moment, will be updated when I have time to attempt syntax fixing the documents) The Core Project has been niggling for resurrection along with Saving Harry and I'll see if I can do anything with my Dr. Death fic this coming weekend. While I was having a rummage I uncovered this little gem, which I consider to be my polar (no pun intended) opposite to "Potter Frost" (which is on the update list just after Saving Harry)._

**_Semi-important note: a lot of Marik's feelings are based around what he did as Yami Marik - which I'm using the manga-Yu Gi Oh version of - because he's far more heinous of a figure then as he was painted in the anime. _**

_I do not own YGO or HP. Slash, undecided pairings. Ignores DH and HBP Severe underage alcoholism and other nastiness - story may be a twoshot/threeshot OR possibly on-going but with a drabble-like style, depending on response _

* * *

><p>Chapter Four<p>

Friendship was strange - after so long. He also didn't really believe in it's genuineness, years of it could be thrown away with such ease that it almost left a bitter taste in his mouth. Harry was also unawares as to how much he actually believed in the honesty in which it was extended to him from the youngest Ishtar. Was it obligatory - after he unloaded so much onto him and vice-versa that none of them could forget the fact that the gap between them was bridging due to it? Was Harry just too paranoid to allow a good thing to happen? Were they supposed to put that night behind them and move on like a one night stand? A moment of weakness? Were the Ishtars even supposed to get close to him - what did Bill want this all to achieve? Anything?

But there was no option to forget, nothing that would allow either Marik or Harry to leave the other alone. For Marik it was the tantalization of someone who toyed with Death so much that they surpassed it as a mortal coil. And that that person's vulnerability and pain was still there and not only that, but it reached Marik on a personal level that nothing else had. He'd been in the minds of men and women before, and warped them to his own needs, he'd seen many shades of life and the depth of their suffering. He'd never cared. One of his mind-slaves in the past had been battling depression for years, he had no qualms with pulling up his suicidal thoughts and making him end his own life when the slave had failed him. He had broken men just because he could. He was not above torture or killing.

Yet, Harry's plight had made him feel things, made him draw lines in the sand and reassess his moral compass after making him realize that he even had one.

Why did it raise all of these guilty, piteous, sad feelings in him to see Harry suffer when he had his fits?

Because Harry had arrived to the Ishtar family already broken.

This time, Marik could not pull away from it and never try to think about them again - because he was always there. In the home, in the guest room and at the dinner table. Harry's prolonged presence was forcing empathy, he had to see the direct result of evil - the evil that was assumed far worse then his own.

In some twisted way, it felt like him trying to make some sort of effort with Potter was trying to make up for the people he'd hurt and the heinous things he'd done to try to meet his previous goals that consisted of revenge and making others suffer for it.

He started with his own family, repairing the damage he'd done when his decision to leave the Tomb Keeping business and pursue the Pharaoh had caused a divide. When as his Yami, he had threatened his sister and made her cry, held a weapon to her - the Millennium Rod - and looking back, he never forgave himself for doing it. He wasn't sure how Isis did.

Marik also knew he'd thrown his brother - Odion into danger, who supported him even through his terrible decisions and always did his best to steer him right, but it was his own fault for never listening. He had to show he appreciated his older brother, so he tried - but none of these things even scratched the surface when it came to redeeming himself for the depths he sank to with the others.

"When I heard we were finally taking you in, I was uncomfortable with it, so I fronted for a while," said Marik, and then he explained why - as Harry began to pour them drinks. How much alcohol did this guy keep in that trunk of his? He made a mental note to readdress it with him later.

"I thought you just didn't like me putting on you and making me share your family all of a sudden," said Harry, necking down a very harsh drink. Marik didn't know what it was, but it burned his throat so he stopped after one sip.

"That too," said Marik, sitting up on the bed, watching Harry neck down the whiskey like it was water.

"But when I heard we were taking in - well - ," he stopped awkwardly. Harry rolled his eyes.

"It's okay, you can say it,"

"Well, when I heard we were taking in a PTSD kid, and we got the summary about it from Weasley, I was really, really uncomfortable with it," said Marik "-because you're the kind of guy I like to forget exists,"

"-and you tried that for a while," chirped up Harry.

"Yeah," said Marik after a moment "-didn't work though, you're hard to ignore," - and Odion sort of called attention to it when he surprised him by how appalled he was when Marik told him that he'd left Harry there after one of his fits.

"Anyways, why'd you try to ignore me? Do you just go around hating people with PTSD or something?" snorted Harry, putting the bottle down.

"-'cause you're the wreckage of a war, bad people," he articulated poorly "-and I was a pretty bad person," .

"I don't like seeing what reminds me about the result of my actions before," admitted Marik, and then he told Harry about the horrible things he did as 'Yami Marik'. Irredeemable things, severely injuring his followers like they were lab-rats, killing for fun, pleasure.

All the horrible things he did - as he said them, ran through Harry's head. It felt like he was talking to Draco Malfoy about all the things his father did - but accepting them as his own actions. Marik spoke about how he never forgave himself for hurting his family, how he lacked empathy - how his body responded to sadism and and occasionally rung masochistic. He was getting a bit scared by Harry's quietness.

"That's why you tried to hang your original self," said Harry - understanding dawning.

"None of it fixes what I did," said the Egyptian grimly.

"Seeking redemption is one of the most amazing things a person can do," said Harry "-I want to believe every person who wants it, is capable of it, and if they can't pay back the crimes in life, they do it in death," shrugged the boy. "That's one of the afterlife's secrets. You can choose to obliterate yourself or walk through a sea of all of the things you have to answer for, it's just worse if you don't do it in life,"

Marik was intrigued and surprisingly not scared by this, in fact, it relaxed him and comforted him in some strange way that he would repay for the heinous things he'd done in the past. Apologizing had never felt like enough - he'd ruined too many people to count.

"I can't tell you anymore then that, it's hard to explain and the rest are...secrets only the dead should know," he whispered - as if Death was keeping an ear out.

Strangely, on some primal level, Marik understood - and didn't press the subject.

"Besides, I don't think there's an ounce of that evilness in you anymore," said Harry softly "-the fact you're so scared of it coming back - and the hanging, tells me that,"

"The darkness, the...Yami always said he was the 'true' me, " the thought made Marik a bit ill.

Harry blinked owlishly.

"Your disorder - or uh, darkness, isn't unique to you. There's people - good people, who fall prey to these mental strains. There's no such thing as a saintly person either, you should know that it was probably a manifestation of everything dark that every person has the capacity to become," every human had the capacity to become a monster - Harry truly believed this.

"You're not 'especially mentally sick' or anything, people may say you are but you really aren't. You were just pushed past the limit of most people - and I don't know why, but it allowed you to cross the line that a lot of them try not to. I've seen it happen to other men," said Harry bitterly.

"It's not the true you," he said resolutely.

"You haven't even known me that long," pointed out Marik, wanting to desperately believe what he was declaring.

"The true you tried to hang all of the 'darkness', the true you is racked with guilt every day about all the fallout your darkness caused - 'the true you' is currently sat on this bed - feeling empathy and wanting redemption more then anything in the world right now, and lives in fear of ever turning that dark again," said Harry flatly.

A brief period of silence as Marik let the statement wash over him.

"I enjoyed their pain, to kill, I - their suffering, lives meant nothing except my own, I've ruined lives," said Marik darkly.

"I liked my own pain too - and that was weird, I mean, physically," he said.

Harry looked at him pensively and a slow dash of red began to reach over his cheeks as he saw the cogs visibly turning in his mind through the greens of his eyes.

"One way or another, compensation is dealt. The universe has a way of balancing itself out like that -trust me," spat Harry bitterly, pushing the thought aside momentarily. But his hands felt shot of feeling for a minute, and in his suddenly blurry vision he could see the doubles of them shake. His vision whited totally as he looked around wildly and felt raw fear. Harry couldn't see the room anymore, that much was obvious.

He screamed, but it sounded like a loud thought, nonetheless, he felt something holding him still from shaking. All he could see was Luna's body on the grounds of Hogwarts, blood in her mouth, skin in her fair hair and lacerated moon-white skin. Neville's was beside her, in a position of protection - pointless as it was. Both bodies were mute and dead - forever frozen in their love midst the battle until the bodybags came.

"What do I do?" he heard a voice make the scene crack, like a vicious stab of reality.

A primal part of Harry knew he wasn't reliving the scene, but now the war was over - no part of him ever wanted to go back. The Wizarding World did not feel safe to him anymore.

Marik felt raw guilt eat him as he began to talk to Harry as soothingly as he could, pretending he was waking him up from a bad dream. He'd triggered this. All of those confessions had led to Harry having a flash.

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure how much time had passed until the wizard had come to his senses, and was griping a wand for dull comfort that seemed to be warming the both of them. Marik didn't even know that wizarding magic had the capability to be so subtle and gentle. It was nice, and Harry's breathing had become steady and his vision was refocusing. Marik could honestly say he'd never been so scared on someone else's behalf before - and also scared for his safety. That maybe Harry wouldn't come out of his fit and he'd have to call Odion and Isis and eventually confess to triggering it.<p>

"Sorry," apologized Marik.

Harry looked at him baffled.

"For what?"

"I triggered your um...," he trailed off, to which Harry just rolled his eyes - as if it were not the case.

"Believe me, they just happen, triggers have to do with very little of it," he said, though in honesty it might have been what Marik professed to doing and feeling - he really did not want to make the Ishtar feel any worse then he did.

"Back to what you were saying before," as Harry said this in a roundabout way to pick up where they left off, he glanced about. First down, then around the room and to his left - which was Marik's clothed chest. It suddenly clicked - and rather late at that - in the period of his little episode he'd been pulled _onto _Marik's lap. So it was his arms that had been squeezing him and pulling him out of the flash. And whilst he was entirely grateful for this, he could not help but feel awkward - and moving off of him would call attention to it.

"The pain part-"

Something told Marik's intuition to lay that one to rest. That, and Harry's alcohol-tipped mood - however sober he seemed meant that he didn't know how far or crudely he'd push the envelope.

"Ah lets just drop that one," said Marik -oddly insistently. It was curious considering the reaction - maybe Marik sensed the direction it was going in and thought it best to just avoid that conversation. He felt considerably vented out and wasn't nearly close enough - or at ease enough to go down the lines of wherever his pain enjoyments came from because he was ninety percent sure the teenager would make it Freudian. It probably was. But Marik wasn't even close to ready to having that talk.

"Alright," said Harry with a shrug, "-you don't suppose I could get off your lap now?" he had to bring it up, because it was rather uncomfortable now.

"You could have done that ten minutes ago," snorted Marik - trying to break the tension.

"Ten minutes ago your lap was relatively comfortable," retorted Harry.

"Your bony ass is boring a hole through my kneecap anyway," said Marik flatly.

"Oi! My arse is not bony!"

Just like that, the hot tension had dispersed.

* * *

><p>Marik learned something interesting about alcoholics. They don't necessarily have to be falling about like Harry had been - the day he'd gone out and gotten plastered. No, sometimes - they could be subtly drunk. It was something he began to notice, the light tinge on his breath or slight pupil dilation. Loads of little things - of course, due to him watching Harry around the clock and all of the nightly chattering sessions, he'd been doing it less. It was a coping method, but not a good one.<p>

That's when Marik noticed that Harry would often scratch his wrists or his fingers would jitter under the table or when out - before he'd shove them in his pockets. His moods were also a very tender sort of thing - and it didn't take a genius to figure out it was just short-term withdrawal.

He was pretty sure Harry would screw at him when he found out, but Marik began to water down his supply.

Then some of it would go missing.

Then Harry one day came into the kitchen at night to see him tipping away full bottles off the stuff.

"The jig is up Marik,"


End file.
